


A Story of Love

by darkdropout



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Crack, M/M, Romance, butt-touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-29
Updated: 2011-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-10 02:29:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkdropout/pseuds/darkdropout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of Nino’s love affair with Ohno’s butt is one for the ages, one to be passed down for generations, an epic tale of triumph and devotion, of adversity and skin-tight pants, of fan service and self service and everything in between. But mostly it’s a story of love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Story of Love

**Author's Note:**

> This was suppose to be a drabble I swear to you. A cracky, cracky drabble. Guys, guys, I just wrote over 4,000 words about Ohno’s butt. X.X A million, trillion Arashi-flavored thanks to my beta, harinezumi_kun for humoring me. You are wonderful. <3 Also, special thanks to my platonic life partner, who actually lets me send her stories about people she doesn’t care about and their butt fetishes and reads them without complaint. And then help me with plot points.

The story of Nino’s love affair with Ohno’s butt is one for the ages, one to be passed down for generations, an epic tale of triumph and devotion, of adversity and skin-tight pants, of fan service and self service and everything in between.  
   
But mostly it’s a story of love.  
   
   
Nino was never much interested in butts before his fateful meeting with Ohno’s. He thinks it was maybe love at first sight - not that he believes in that kind of thing normally. In this case, however, there was really no other way to explain it.  
   
Well, okay, maybe it’s that he’s thirteen years old and his hormones have taken hostile control of his entire nervous system, making him react completely inappropriately to a variety of situations (some, regrettably, involving Aiba Masaki, but those are best left forgotten, even if that forgetfulness must be maintained through biannual threats of pain to parties involved).  
   
So when Nino shows up in Kyoto and sees Ohno for the first time –  
   
He thinks he’s a weird kid.  
   
Then Ohno turns around to say something to the taller boy latched to his side (what was his name? Machida?) and that –  
   
That’s love at first sight.  
   
Because Ohno’s butt is just – _perfect_. It’s pert and supple and a Goddamn achievement of anatomy that knocks the agnostic tendencies right out of Nino because this, clearly, is proof in a higher power and His most incredible plan.  
   
 _Perfect_. Perfect on sight and even more unbelievably perfect when less than an hour after formal introductions, Nino has somehow managed to engage the older boy in a wrestling match and his hand simply, subtly, grabs a firm hold.  
   
It must be meant to be. Even Nino’s stupid, small hands, hands he’s spent countless hours cursing for their complete lack of aesthetic value - these hands are the perfect size for this. Exactly right. When he flexes his stubby fingers, he feels a kind of bliss settle over him, like none he’s never known in his (admittedly short) life.   
   
This is better than a whole summer’s afternoon of baseball, better than buying milk buns with spare change found in the cracks of the sidewalk on the way home from school. Better than his best prank ever (which to date, involved half of Johnny’s Juniors, a dozen bottles of bleach and a key code to override the generator to the Jimusho dorms). It’s better than watching Aiba faceplant in the middle of a Music Station recording and better than pay day and New Years and his birthday put together in a fat envelope of cash.  
   
It’s almost, Nino thinks through his haze of utter contentment, almost even better than games.  
   
Nino squeezes, high off this new feeling of completion. Ohno lets out a surprised squeak, eyes going wide as saucers, and Nino finds himself amending his earlier statement.    
   
That _is_ even better than games.  
   
   
   
After that it’s like an addiction. Nino can’t stop. For the rest of his time in Kyoto, he’s scrambling for ways to touch Ohno, to touch his _butt_. His onslaught of physical attentions becomes so intense that Ohno seems to develop a twitch whenever Nino is in close proximity.   
   
“I think you’re freaking Satoshi-kun out,” Sho tells him helpfully one afternoon as they’re letting out of dance practice.  
   
“You’re just jealous,” Nino retorts cleverly. Before Sho can attest, Nino runs off, casually, to catch up with Ohno, pushing Juniors out of the way as he goes.  
   
When they’re packing up to return to Tokyo, Nino makes sure to get Ohno’s number. Well, it’s easy enough to do – he just takes Ohno’s phone out of his back pocket, where Ohno keeps putting it, clearly unaware that it’s in Nino’s way.  Nino dials his own number in with a row of hearts and winky emoticons.  He hands it back to Ohno with a grin.  
   
Ohno just blinks at him with the same unreadable expression he’s been wearing since they met. And twitches.  
   
   
   
It’s a long distance thing for a while, and Nino can live with that. After a week of moping and curling his fingers pathetically around thin-air, he accepts the separation and adds it to ever increasing list of things in his life over which he has no control.   
   
He comforts himself by sending Ohno mails and knowing that somewhere, out there, Ohno’s phone is vibrating in his back pocket, right where Nino’s hand should be.  
   
   
   
Ohno’s standing in the airport when the rest of them arrive.  
   
Johnny is sending them to Hawaii on a mysterious trip. Nino’s not stupid, though. This is not a vacation.  He’s been in the Jimusho for three years and that’s long enough to find suspicious any excursion that involves only four Juniors – five now with Ohno waiting for them by the baggage check point, despite that fact that the only baggage he seems to have with him is a rather unattractive fanny pack strapped around his waist.  
   
“Satoshi-kun!” Sho calls out in surprise. He smiles and it's the first time Nino’s seen him smile all day.   
   
Sho’s not stupid either. He knows just as well as Nino does what this trip could mean and it’s something the two of them have been dreading for a long time now. Together they’ve marched through the week leading up to now like a funeral procession of two, mourning the last bit of hope they’d had for escape from this fate.  
   
Ohno looks up when Sho says his name and waves lazily at them. His eyes flit to Nino, but he doesn't twitch. Nino’s not sure to be happy or disappointed by this.  
   
It’s been a while since they’ve seen each other, brief meetings on a handful of occasions since that fateful meeting in Kyoto, occasions where Nino has helped himself to a handful of Ohno’s ass with no qualms for time, place and propriety.  
   
But somewhere in the spaces between, when Nino’s sending mails full of sparkles and music notes to Ohno’s phone, when the mails turn into phone calls that last for hours, conversations about nothing and everything, where Ohno makes Nino laugh until he drops the phone and Nino lulls Ohno to sleep with whispered secrets and hopes and dreams that, surprisingly, unsurprisingly, they both share. Somewhere along the way, they’ve become friends. Good friends.  
   
 _“Best friends_ ,” Nino tells Ohno once, quiet but certain, as he listens to Ohno’s rhythmic snores on the other end of the line.  
   
“Oh-chan!” Nino says happily and before Ohno can react, Nino is right beside him, pulling him into a crushing hug and, with no semblance of subtly, reaching down to give Ohno’s butt an affectionate squeeze.  
   
Ohno squeaks a little and Nino is appeased. He pulls back and grins at Ohno.  
   
“Ohno-san,” Jun says, in that nervous, reverent tone Jun uses around his seniors, and which for some reason he feels appropriate to use with the space cadet that is Ohno Satoshi. “We didn’t hear you were coming.”  
   
Ohno shrugs. “Johnny-san told me to come yesterday. This’ll is my last time in Hawaii,” he adds dreamily, and doesn’t elaborate. Nino knows though – knows that like he and Sho, Ohno is planning to quit Johnnys. It’s one of the secrets they share.  
   
Sho seems to know too, and he and Nino exchange a wary look. Ohno has no idea what he’s walking into. Maybe it’s pity and maybe it’s selfishness, but Nino, for one, is not about to tell him.  
   
   
   
The next day Aiba, Jun, Sho, Nino and Ohno debut as Arashi.  
   
   
   
Over the years, Nino touches Ohno’s butt in different ways and for different reasons. There’s the friendly, platonic “hello” pat, the “I missed you” rub, the “I’m nervous and in need of reassurance” squeeze and even the “as of yet unlabeled” knead, made infamous more than once in front of tens of thousands of screaming fans.  
   
Ohno for the most part is a passive participant in the whole situation and after a few years the initial shock of having someone touch him so inappropriately wears off (or perhaps Ohno is just suffering from Stockholm’s Syndrome, Jun suggests during one of the other three member’s Emergency SK WTF?! Meetings. The meetings start out as a quite frequently held forum to discuss various feelings of horror stemming from Nino and Ohno’s unique relationship, but peter off as the years go by, replaced by the silent and distinctly uncomfortable resignation of incomprehension). Ohno might even grow to enjoy the attention, judging by the mournful looks he often gives when Nino keeps his distance for too long.  
   
Nino isn't entirely sure he cares whether Ohno likes it or not. In fact, as far as Nino’s concerned, what his hand does with Ohno’s butt is none of Ohno’s business.  
   
   
“Why do you do that?” Aiba asks him one day, but his tone is curious, not accusatory like Jun’s is or concerned like Sho’s.  
   
“Do what?” Nino asks, not looking up from his DS, oblivious to the moony looks Ohno is giving him from the other side of the studio.  
   
“Touch Captain’s butt,” he says.  
   
Nino is unsurprised by this. Annoyed at having his game interrupted for such an inane question, yes, but not surprised by the question itself. It’s been five years already and this isn’t the first time this conversation has come up with various members and managers and even his mother on one incredibly awkward occasion. More recently, it’s even coming up in interviews. Nino has no problem smiling mischievously and telling the world exactly what he’s found they want to hear. Sometimes Ohno even plays along.  
   
“I’ve always done it,” Nino tells Aiba, like it’s an obvious answer.  
   
“I know that,” Aiba says. “But why?”  
   
Nino sighs heavily, takes on the tone one uses with a very small child. “Because I like to, “ he explains.  
   
“But _why_?” Aiba insists and really Nino has the patience of a saint he thinks to himself.  
   
“Because it makes me _happy_ ,” he says slowly and clearly, emphasizing each word to make sure Aiba understands.  
   
Aiba’s face screws up in contemplation. Nino turns back to his game, sure the conversation is over.  
   
But of course he’s not that lucky.  
   
“Does it make Captain happy?”  
   
Nino looks up again and Aiba is watching him seriously, eyes full of concern, like he’s reading something into this situation that Nino really doesn’t see. It reminds him of the look Sho’s given him a few times, in similar moments of discussion, one that looks something like pity, but can’t be because why would Sho pity him. It reminds him of Jun’s looks of barely reigned in frustration when Nino slides his hand into Ohno’s back pocket, well after the cameras have been shut off and stowed away.  
   
Aiba opens his mouth to repeat the question, but it snaps shut again when Nino holds up a hand to silence him.  
   
Nino’s thinking about it.  
   
In truth, he never has before. To be fair, thirteen year olds don’t really stop to inspect their motives and by the time Nino had been old enough to be introspective on his life choices, touching Ohno was already such a constant (and necessary, a little voice whispers in the back of his head) part of his daily life that there didn’t seem to be a need to.  Besides, it wasn’t like he only touched Ohno. Nino was an infamously touchy person to the pleasure, distress and exasperation of all his friends.  
   
Things were no different when it came to Ohno. His hand knew where it wanted to be and Nino had no reason to stop it from going there.  
   
There had been moments when Ohno had been uncomfortable with it, of course, Nino did know that and if he hadn’t, Sho had hinted at it enough times (taking too seriously, as usual, his self-appointed role as the mother hen of a group of awkward teenage boys with bad teeth and questionable hair who overnight found themselves on the cover of every magazine in Japan).  
   
But Ohno never said anything, and Nino was more than happy to take that as outright if unspoken permission to do whatever he pleased. So he did. And when Ohno squirmed, pulled away from his touch, shot Nino looks that were hard to interpret as anything but “STOP”, Nino ignored them with self-preserving determination and kept his hand where it was.  
   
Nino’s not heartless though. Ohno is, has been, without question the best of his best friends for half a decade and his happiness is just as important, more important, than Nino’s own.  
   
“Yes,” Nino tells Aiba, and he’s sure that it's the truth when he meets Ohno’s eyes across the room and Ohno perks up, smiles brightly and waves. “It makes Captain happy.”  
   
He’s too busy looking at Ohno to see Aiba’s worried frown.  
   
   
   
The saga continues. Nino’s hand and Ohno’s butt share many long, affectionate years together, their love pure and untainted by the world around them, by the judgment of press and fans and management and band members who should mind their own business anyway, by the feelings of their owners, whatever they may be.  
   
   
   
“Why do you do that?” and it’s Ohno asking this time.  
   
Nino watches his fingers flex into Ohno’s backside, cranes his neck to look at Ohno with a questioning hum.  
   
“Why do you always touch my butt?” he asks. His eyes are serious, unreadable as the day they met and it bothers Nino sometimes that although he knows Ohno so well that there are moments when it’s almost telepathic between them, there’s still this one look he’s never been able to understand.  
   
“You’re just asking me thisnow?” Nino huffs, half laugh, half exasperation, and a little bit of something else vibrating uncomfortably behind his rib cage.  
   
Ohno doesn’t reply to that, just keeps looking at him. They’re alone in Ohno’s hotel room, where the members had all congregated after the concert, but the others have long since gone to bed. Despite Sho’s polite coughs and Jun’s quite impolite glare, Nino had chosen not to follow them.  
   
Now he and Ohno are lying on Ohno’s bed, Nino on his back and Ohno next to him on his stomach, leaving Nino’s hand easy access to its favorite spot. Nino never turns down an invitation.  
   
The silence stretches between them, and Nino knows that Ohno’s waiting for him to answer, but that he won’t press it further, won’t ask again, will let Nino let it drop. Because he’s a good friend, because he’s a _best friend_ , and he lets Nino do whatever he wants, whenever he wants, without complaint.  
   
And sometimes, every day maybe, Nino takes advantage of this.  
   
Nino flexes his fingers again and Ohno squeaks, something he hasn’t done in years.   The feeling in Nino’s chest jumps, violently, to his throat, to the pit of his stomach, in every direction at once like an explosion.  
   
“Oh-chan,“ he says, but he has to turn his head again, can’t look Ohno in the eye.  There are things he wants to say, lots of things, years worth of things that he hasn’t had the courage to even say to himself yet, but that maybe he’s known, deep down, since day one.  
   
There’s a moment where he thinks he might say them all, out loud, so that Ohno can hear them. But he doesn’t. He can’t.  
   
Instead he says, “Do you want me to stop?”  
   
“I just want to know why you do it,” Ohno tells him, voice quiet.  
   
Nino is silent for a moment.  
   
“It makes me happy,” he says finally, honestly. He makes to move his hand, but then Ohno is reaching down, placing his own hand over Nino’s on his butt and squeezing.  
   
Nino meets his eyes and Ohno’s smiling, Nino’s favorite Ohno smile – the one that makes his eyes squinch and his nose crinkle. The unreadable expression is long gone.  
   
“If it makes you happy, then it makes me happy,” Ohno says simply.  
   
Nino lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, smiling back at Ohno with what must be thinly veiled relief, because Ohno laughs and reaches out to pat his cheek affectionately.  
   
“Time for bed,” Ohno tells him and before Nino can get up to leave, Ohno is pulling down the blankets on the bed and ushering Nino under them, tucking the two of them in together side by side. It’s easy and comfortable this way, and they’ve done it countless times over the years.  
   
“’Night, Oh-chan,” Nino mumbles as Ohno reaches out to turn off the light, the room around them melting into the quiet night.  
   
Ohno, as usual, is asleep within minutes, but Nino stays awake, the strange unsettling feelings still thrumming through him, even in the dark.  
   
His hand curls uselessly in the empty space between. He feels the unspoken words sliding off his finger tips and he shoves down the feeling that maybe, for the first time in his life, this is something he can control, if he’d only try.  
   
   
   
After all this time, it need not be said that Nino has made his claim on Ohno’s butt clear from the start, in both public and private, with reminders every few years in the form of primetime television displays for confirmation of his ownership. Not that he needs to. For over ten years no one has dared to challenge it.  
   
Which is why, when Nino reaches down to place his hand in its favorite resting spot and finds that sacred space already occupied, the results are apocalyptic.  
   
“WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”  
   
Jun has the audacity to smirk at him.  
   
“Get your dirty, over-ringed fingers off. Now,” Nino hisses with a tone he hopes conveys the truly deep shit that Matsumoto Jun has just landed himself in.  
   
If it does, Jun doesn't seem to be concerned. “Why?” he asks, with all the practiced nonchalant of someone who knows exactly why.  
   
“Because!” Nino retorts cleverly.  
   
“Make me,” Jun tells him. His hand is still firmly in _Nino’s_ place, leaving Nino’s own hand awkwardly with nothing to hold on to. Nino settles for curling it into a fist and shaking it in Jun’s direction.  
   
“I will rain pain and suffering down on you, Matsumoto Jun,” Nino growls and it’s not exactly the crushing-fear-inducing threat he was aiming for, but he’s finding it very hard to be rational or even snarky in light of this disturbing situation.  
   
Jun seems quite pleased with the result of this if the sheer number and size of teeth in his rather sadistic smile is anything to judge by. “It’s not yours. You don’t have a monopoly on it,” he says smugly.  
   
Nino’s eyes narrow into slits. “My hand and Ohno’s ass are exclusive, thank you very much, and have been since before you ever got those stupid teeth fixed and turned into such a prick.”  
   
Jun’s smile falters, but only for a moment, before the corners of it twist menacingly. There’s a triumphant glint in his eyes and while Nino is doing his best to stand his ground, there’s something about the look that makes him want to turn on his heels and run.  
   
He settles for crossing his arms, and stomping his foot, petulantly.  
   
Jun looks as if he’s about to say something biting in reply, when he’s interrupted.  
   
“Guys – “  
   
Both Jun and Nino look up at Ohno’s voice. Ohno is craning his neck around, trying to see what’s going on behind him, his forehead furrowed in concern. “I really have to go now. I’m gonna be late for – ”  
   
“Stay out of this Oh-chan!” Nino says at the same time as Jun says, “Sorry, Leader, of course.”  
   
Ohno steps away from Jun’s hand, turns and faces them, his expression still creased with puzzlement.  
   
Nino frowns at him, arms still hugged around himself defensively, looking for all his worth like the thirteen year old who’s hormonal bliss had instigated everything up until this moment.  
   
“Oh-chan, tell him only I can touch you butt,” he says, he pleads, well aware of how ridiculous he sounds, tone edging on hysteria for reasons he can’t quite name.  
   
But Ohno is giving him that look again and Nino feels that vibrating, unnamed tension building in his chest, spreading hot and thick all the way to his fingertips, where they dig painfully into his arms, clinging to something, anything to fill the sudden void in the palm of his hand. He feels dizzy.  
   
“Why?” Jun asks, tone aggressive, pushing, pushing buttons Nino wasn’t aware he had, but clearly Jun has been seeking out all this time because his expression is eager, persistent, like he’s in the home stretch of something. “Why only you?”  
   
Nino looks at Ohno, looks at Jun, feels the molten emotion crashing up against a wall inside him, washing it away. And from behind it, something comes pouring out.  
   
“BECAUSE I LOVE HIM!” Nino yells.  
   
The words ring in the silence that follows. Jun is smiling, clearly relieved. Ohno is frozen, eyes wide and mouth open. After a moment, he steps forward, but Nino dodges him, runs for the door and throws it open. Sho and Aiba stare stupidly at him from the other side, but he doesn’t stop. He pushes past them and disappears down the hall.  
   
Ohno blinks at Jun. Jun just smiles and nods in encouragement.  
   
Ohno starts running.  
   
   
   
“That – was brave,” Sho says in awe as he closes the door behind them.  
   
Jun shrugs. He’s still smiling, but Sho can see his hands are shaking with adrenaline. “It was about time.”  
   
“Captain’s been in love with Nino for a long time, huh?” Aiba says, putting a companionable hand on Jun’s shoulder and squeezing affectionately.  
   
“But not as long as Nino’s been in love with him,” Sho adds. He’s wringing his hands together and both Aiba and Jun can tell he’s wondering whether or not to follow Ohno out the door.  
   
“Let them figure it out now,” Jun says.  
   
“But what if –“ Sho starts.  
   
“You worry too much,” Jun tells him, not for the first time. “Stop being such a mother. They’re grownups now and they can take care of themselves.”  
   
Sho laughs at that. “Which is why you made such an effort to stay out of it,” he points out.  
   
Jun glares at him, but there’s no malice to it. “I gave them ten years to settle it themselves. I couldn’t take ten more.”  
   
“You did a good thing, Matsujun,” Aiba reassures him. “A really good thing. For them. For all of us.” He smiles bright. “For Arashi.”  
   
Sho nods. “You know this is only going to make Ohmiya SK worse right? If they’re really together? If – ”  
   
Jun puts up a hand before Sho can say more. “Sho, don’t make me regret this.”  
   
“You know, Matsujun,” Aiba says, sweetly, sliding his arm casually around Jun’s shoulders. He bumps their hips together playfully. “If you want to touch my butt, you totally can.”  
   
“Please stop,” says Jun, wearily.    
   
   
   
Nino’s running, running with no intention of stopping.  
   
What did he just say? Why did he just say that? And more importantly, why did he know that he meant it the moment it left his mouth?  
   
His body is thrumming with the release of long-unspoken truths and his limbs feel wild with them, awkward and pubescent all-over-again with a mind of their own as he knocks through doors and ricochets around corners, running away from the one thing he’s spent all these years trying to get closer too.  
   
When he hits a dead end, he’s almost relieved. It stops him in his tracks. He leans forward and presses his palm against the cool surface of the locked emergency exit blocking his path.  
   
He hears footsteps behind him, coming fast, echoing with the same fevered desperation as his own moments before.  
   
He doesn’t turn around as they get louder, closer, as they skid to a stop behind him. He doesn’t need to, to know who it is.  
   
“Nino,” Ohno says. He’s breathless from running, breathless from something else.  
   
Nino is silent, but he can feel Ohno moving closer, pressing up against him, arms curling around his waist.  
   
“Nino,” he says again.  
   
Nino doesn’t struggle, lets himself be caught, for the first time in his life lets the touches between them be on Ohno’s terms. Ohno holds him tight against his chest, like he’s worried Nino will start running if he lets go, even here where there’s nowhere left to run.  
   
“I love you,” Nino tells him, the second confession of the day he hasn’t meant to give.  
   
He can hear Ohno’s smile in his pleased hum of his voice. “I was kind of hoping you did.”  
   
“I love your _butt_ ,” Nino adds, an afterthought.  
   
Ohno tucks his chin against Nino’s shoulder and tips his forehead against Nino’s cheek. “I did get that impression.”  
   
“ I – “ Nino starts again, but finds that he has nothing else to say. He turns in Ohno’s arms, looks him in the eye.  
   
“I love you too,” Ohno tells him and although it’s far less dramatic than Nino’s confession, it shakes Nino’s world just the same.  
   
Before he can process all this, process five years, ten years, fifteen years falling into place, into a place he’s never even let himself hope they could, all at once, they’re kissing.  
   
And Nino’s been wrong, so wrong, all this time in thinking that Ohno’s butt is the most perfect thing about him because his _kisses_ – his kisses are even more life changing than his confessions, than all of this. Ohno kisses him with an honesty that Nino has never given him, never even given himself.  
   
It makes Nino’s head swim, fills him up with memories of the day they met, of every day after that. He lets them stack up in his mind, one on top of another, a tower as precarious and feeble as every pretense he’s ever given to touch Ohno, just to be near him.  
   
Then Ohno parts his lips and Nino feels the slick warmth of his tongue and it all comes crumbling down to this moment, here, in Ohno’s arms.  
   
When they finally pull apart, flushed and out of breath, Ohno reaches down and gives Nino’s butt a squeeze.   
   
Nino shoves him hard.  
   
“Don’t do that!” he squawks in outrage, giving Ohno a disgusted glare as he bats his hands away forcefully.  
   
“But – “ Ohno protests. Nino just fists a hand in the front of Ohno’s shirt, pulls him in and silences him with another kiss.  
   
Ohno sighs against his lips, like he’s resigned himself to Nino and his wandering hand and his incomprehensible actions long ago, like he’s been waiting years to resign himself to Nino’s kisses too.  
   
He grabs Nino’s hands, squeezes their fingers together, then slides them around his waist and into his back pockets, where they belong.  
   
   
   
The story of Nino’s love affair with Ohno’s butt is an epic one. One of hormones and friendship, of denial and confusion and meddling band mates that should mind their own business. One of fan service and self service and everything in between.  
   
But mostly, Nino tells anyone who will listen, his hand tucked warmly into Ohno’s back pocket, mostly it’s a story of love.


End file.
